I just watched the cat jump clean over the top of the dog. The cow jumped over the moon. It was amazing and no one saw it but me, just like that time I was driving home from college and saw the Northern Lights.
Milhous does think Edsel hung the moon. I saw Mil standing on his back legs earlier this morning, rubbing his face on Edsel repeatedly. I see this often in the morning when they go out together for their constitutional, but every time I grab the camera to take a photo out the window, Mil immediately catches on and I can never capture it for you.
I like how our phones have become “the camera.”
Anyway, hi. Man, am I hung over from that Super Bowl. Oh, sorry, from “The Big Game.” Did you ever notice that companies have to call it that? Also, I am not remotely hung over, and I do not care about “The Big Game.” Who won?
Who was in it?
I got a lot of stuff done this weekend. I’ve been complaining since last winter that every winter coat I have has something wrong with it. You stick your hand in one pocket and it’s not even a pocket anymore; the lining is ripped straight through. You try to button another and the middle button is gone. Always the middle button so you can’t fake it.
So I gathered a bunch of them up (I still have a ski jacket that has no flaws, so don’t worry that I’m freezing to death. Also the high today is 71, so…)
(The South. Confederate flags, but also sometimes 71 in February.®)
SO I GATHERED A BUNCH OF THEM UP, and took them to the crabby alterations guy at the outdoor mall near my old house. I’d been there with Ned in the past, when he was having work things altered. That was the only way I knew alterations guys even existed.
“You have button with this?” the crabby guy asked me. Of course I don’t have the button. I don’t even know when it fell off. If I knew that, I’d have swept it up and sewed it back on myself.
See. I just figured alterations places had every button you’d ever need. But it turns out when you have vintage coats, KIT—and I like how I blame Kit for owning a vintage store and forcing me to go in it and buy coats—the buttons are all rare and special and the point of my story is I hadda go to the Joann Fabric, get buttons, and come back.
I have only ever been there one other time, and that was to get fabric I deeply regret for recovering my kitchen chairs. I bought a light fabric that the cats have already made claw marks in, and who ordered all these cats? I blame Kit.
Their damn gray fur shows up on the light fabric Joann sold me, and the whole situation is a fiasco and soon I’ll have to re-recover them using Rhianna’s face. Rhi-Rhi. Did you get that? Is there anything more annoying than those gossip sites using nicknames for celebrities like they actually know them? Calling Madonna Madge particularly grates, but Rhi-Rhi is the all-time worst. I wouldn’t read those sites but Kit forces me.
So I drove to Joann Fabric, my old stomping grounds, and it turns out there are all sorts of annoying women there who get right in your way as they stampede for the glue gun section. I can’t think of a place I fit in less than Joann Fabric, unless you place me in a silent meditation retreat.
Or at the Super Bowl.
A Monster Truck rally.
A meeting of the empaths.
Okay, a lot of places I wouldn’t fit in. Shut up. Still. What makes anyone buy fake flowers and glue guns? Fake flowers and glue guns say, “I’m about to create a monstrosity.”
“When you arrive at my door, a fake-flower wreath the size of your dilated cervix will greet you jauntily.”
Despite all my mocking of Joann and her fabrics–and is there any “I make fake flower wreaths” name more than Joann? Anyway, despite my snobbery, I got riveted by the button section, which I was hoping had at least a FEW clitorises, but no.
Oh my god, there were shiny buttons and patterned buttons and shapely buttons. There were purple ones and silver ones and butt-butt-buttons galore.
About 50 women got in my way while I was looking. This might be because I spent 20 minutes being riveted by buttons. And they were being button-skis.
Finally, I got the right size—the crabby alterer told me to be sure to get buttons as big as my old ones. I took one with me that I made him rip off my coat so I could compare.
Then I had to stand in an interminable line while each fake-flower-buyer had a coupon or a complaint or couldn’t figure out the slide-your-card-into-the-thing checkout sitch.
Average age of Joann Fabric customer: 672. “Why, back in my day, I traded wheat for buttons.”
As I got in my car to return to the cranky alterations store, I decided I was going to try to drive back there on my own, without asking my camera. See, what I did was, I tried to retrace my steps there.
I know those of you with an actual sense of direction do this without thinking about it. My friend MaryBeth used to be able to tell me which direction we were facing any place we were in LA. I’d ask her as a little test. “Northwest,” she’d say, like she just knew in her soul.
Eventually she hipped me to the fact that the water was west. And hills were…
Now I can’t remember. But it came in handy at the time. The water was west! Of course it was! It made sense once she said it.
Anyway, the point is I did it. I DID IT! I got from a part of town I rarely go to all the way back to the mall near my old house. Oh my god!
I was so proud of self I called my mother on my camera. Told her the whole story, leaving out the button/clitoris joke because I just made it up today.
She paused. “Hasn’t that mall been there the whole time you’ve lived in Greensboro?” she asked.
“See. This is why I have low self-esteem and make poor choices,” I said to her, stopping off for a fried-chicken sandwich before I got back to the crabby alterations store.
Geez. Way to be supportive, MOM. I feel like Margaret Thatcher’s mom would have been all, Good job, honey! This is why I’m not prime minister of the United States. Also because political things are boring. But mostly because my mother does not support my crowning achievements. I should make her a huge fake-flower wreath using giant chrysanthemums and clitorises that she’d have to hang when I came over.
Well. I meant to talk about something else entirely today but I see I got off on a tangent and now I have to go to work.
Button up your overcoat.